Page 15 of My Rose

“You don’t know me, Rose.” His finger tapped along the shifter knob while his eyes stayed glued to the road.

“Was it your ex? Are you jealous she wanted to stay behind with someone else?”

And then he stopped the car. Full-on stopped, in the middle of the road we’d been slowly coasting down. The one car behind us laid on the horn and then drove around while screaming profanities from their open window. He ignored it completely.

“Jealous?” He kept his eyes forward, but it was impossible to miss the curl of his lip as if he were disgusted by that.

“You know what? Just take me home.” I scoffed and edged my elbow against the car door, propping my head on my hand.

“Gladly.” The jacket fell back into my lap as his jaw set. “Keep it.” The rumble of the engine kicked up a notch as he started moving the car again. He seemed to change at the drop of a hat, kind of like when he decided to leave Jim’s without saying a word.

Which reminded me—

“Why did you leave?”

“What?”

“Jim’s store. Why. Did. You. Leave?” I punctuated each word, abandoning all credence that he’d meant no harm by not saying bye, and then left me his— “And the number. Why give me your number on a bag?”

He gripped the wheel so tightly that I thought it would rip from the dashboard. “You’re being ridiculous.”

I laughed. “Me? Ridiculous?”

He ignored that, instead answering the first and second questions I asked him.I think.“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” I laughed again, feeling no humor. “You don’t know. Great.”

“Girls like you end up needing someone to save them. I thought you might need someone like—”

“Someone, what, like you? Tosaveme?” The night was going to shit faster than I could stop it. I wanted to believe he was a good guy, but maybe it was a good thing we hardly talked in history class, orbeyond wherever he went after that. “What does that even mean, girls like me? What kind of girl am I, Briggs?”

“Just forget it. Delete my number,” he murmured low, almost like a growl.

No, that was definitely a growl.

“Gladly.” I spat his words back at him with the same abrasiveness he used. “You know, I was starting to think we could be friends.”

He looked at me through the corner of his eye. “You don’t want me to be your friend,” he replied firmly, his voice hard as stone. One minute he was being nice, the next he was…whatever the hellthiswas.

I lolled my head against the door, staring up at the stars through the window, trying to imagine I was anywhere else but there. Then it dawned on me. I didn’t need to be there. In his car. Taking his crap.

“Just let me out here.” We were maybe ten more minutes from my house, I could walk there easily.

“No,” he replied almost as fast as I’d said it.

I shifted from my position against the car door. Turning to face him, I repeated, “Let. Me. Out.”

He didn’t flinch like I hoped he would. I wanted to have some kind of effect on him like he was having on me. I was apparently weak around attractive men.

He groaned. “I’m not letting you walk alone in the dark.”

Yep, weak.That stupid heat crept up, this time between my thighs. I, once again, blamed the alcohol and turned my thoughts back to anger. “Who said anything about caring about what you want toletme do? Let me out.”

“No.” He shifted gears and sped up as if the speed would deter me from flinging myself from his car when in reality it would be the stupid way his doors opened that would make me think twice. I couldn’t even find the button as I searched along the door.

I gave up and glared over at him. “Because you’re such a good friend,” I replied sarcastically and the car stopped. Again. But the doors remained closed. He turned in his seat to face me, his green eyes darkening to unprecedented levels.

I straightened. “I can’t be your friend, Rose. You don’t know me, and if you did, you wouldn’t want to. I’m no good. So, let me take you home. You can delete my number, and you won’t ever have to see me again. Deal?” He looked like he desperately wanted to prove what he said was true, but that glimmer of sadness in his eyes made me believe otherwise. He was a good person, he just didn’t believe it himself. Yet he’d already proven it the times we’d been together. And I was willing to bet he’d prove it more once he got over whatever was going on in his head.

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